Friday Poetry: H.D

Happy Friday!

I hope everyone has some exciting plans for the weekend. I have a busy weekend playing the organ for a wedding and a church service.

My chosen poem this week is by Hilda Doolittle who published under the name H.D. Doolittle was an American modernist poet.

Heat

O wind, rend open the heat,
cut apart the heat,
rend it to tatters.

Fruit cannot drop
through this thick air -
fruit cannot fall into heat
that presses up and blunts
the points of pears
and round the grapes.

Cut the heat -
plough through it,
turning it on either side
of your path.

H.D

Happy Reading

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Friday Poetry: Thomas Hardy

Hello!

Happy Friday! I hope everyone has some fantastic plans for the weekend. I have spent most of today dissertation writing and will be doing the same over the weekend as well as prepping a church service for Sunday and practising music for two church services so I doubt I will get much fun reading in but I will try.

My chosen poem today is by Thomas Hardy (1840-1928) who was an English novelist and poet. I must admit he is one of my favourite authors and I must get around to reading more of his work as I haven’t for a while.

Weathers

I
This is the weather the cuckoo likes,
And so do I;
When showers be tumble the chestnut spikes,
And nestlings fly:
And the little brown nightingale bills his best,
And they sit outside at 'The Travellers' Rest',
And maids come forth sprig-muslim drest,
And citizens dream of the south and west,
And so do I.

II
This is the weather the shepherd shuns,
And so do I;
When beeches drip in browns and duns,
And thresh, and ply;
And hill-hid tides throb, throe on throw,
And meadow rivulets overflow,
And drops on gate-bars hang in a row, 
And rooks in families homeward go,
And so do I.

Thomas Hardy

Happy Reading

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Friday Poetry: Edna St Vincent Millay

Happy Friday!

Facebook kindly reminded me that three years ago today I was on holiday in Barcelona. I must admit I would love to be on holiday right now but sadly that is unlikely to happen this year. So I have gone for a poem about the desire to travel.

The poem is by Edna St Vincent Millay who was an American poet and feminist activist, living in the first half of the twentieth century.

Travel

The railroad track is miles away,
And the day is loud with voices speaking,
Yet there isn't a train goes by all day
But I hear its whistle shrieking. 

All night there isn't a train goes by,
Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming,
But I see its cinders red on the sky,
And hear its engine steaming.

My heart is warm with the friends I make,
And better friends I'll not be knowing;
Yet there isn't a train I wouldn't take,
No matter where it's going.

Edna St Vincent Millay

Happy Reading

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Friday Poetry: William Wordsworth

Hello!

Happy Friday! I hope everyone is looking forward to the weekend.

My chosen poem today is by William Wordsworth. Wordsworth (1770-1850) was an English Romantic poet who was Poet Laureate from 1843 till his death in 1850.

I think this is a good poem for everyone who is finishing their studies this month for their summer break.

The Tables Turned

Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books;
Or surely you'll drop double:
Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;
Why all this toil and trouble?

The sun above the mountain's head,
A freshening lustre mellow
Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.

Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife:
Come, hear the woodland linnet,
How sweet his music! on my life,
There's more of wisdom in it.

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher:
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your teacher.

She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless -
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by cheerfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things: -
We murder to dissect.

Enough of Science and of Art;
Close up those barren leaves;
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives. 

William Wordsworth

Happy Reading

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Friday Poetry: T. S. Eliot

Happy Friday!

I hope everyone has some good plans for the weekend.

My chosen poem for the week is from an old favourite. Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats is probably my all time favourite book of poetry, so I have chosen to share The Naming of Cats.

The Naming of Cats

The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter, 
It isn't just one of your games;
You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES. 
First of all, there's the name that the family use daily, 
Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James,
Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey - 
All of them sensible everyday names.
There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter, 
Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
Such as plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter - 
But all of them sensible everyday names.
But I tell you, a cat needs a name that's particular,
A name that's peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,
Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat,
Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum - 
Names that never belong to more than one cat. 
But above and beyond there's still one name left over,
And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover -
But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation, 
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is enraged in rapt contemplation
Of the moment, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
His ineffable effable
Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name.

T. S. Eliot

Happy Reading

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Friday Poetry: Laura Mucha

Happy Friday!

I hope everyone is looking forward to the weekend.

This weeks poem is by Laura Mucha. Mucha is an ex-lawyer and award-winning poet, writer and speaker.

The Land of Blue

Across the valley, it waits for you,
a place they call The Land of Blue.

It's far and near, it's strange yet known - 
and in this land, you'll feel alone,
you might feel tears roll down your cheek,
you might feel wobbly, weary, weak.

I know this won't sound fun to you - 
it's not - this is The Land of Blue.
It's blue - not gold or tangerine,
it's dark - not light, not bright or clean.

It's blue- and when you leave, you'll see
the crackly branches of the tree,
the golden skies, the purring cat,
the piercing eyes, the feathered het
and all the other things that come 
when you escape from feeling glum.

Across the valley, it waits for you,
a place they call The Land of Blue
and going there will help you know
how others feel when they feel low.

Laura Mucha

Happy Reading

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Friday Poetry: Amy Levy

Happy Friday!

I hope you all have some fantastic plans for the weekend.

My chosen poem today is by a new poet for me, Amy Levy. Amy Levy (10 November 1861 – 10 September 1889) was a British essayist, poet, and novelist best remembered for her literary gifts. She was also the first Jewish woman at Cambridge University

A London Plane-Tree

Green is the plane-tree in the square,
The other trees are brown;
They droop and pine for country air;
The plane-tree loves the town. 

Here, from my garret-pane, I mark
The plane-tree bud and blow,
Shed her recuperative bark,
And spread her shade below.

Among her branches, in and out,
The city breezes play;
The dun fog wraps her round about;
Above, the smoke curls grey.

Others the country take for choice,
And hold the town in scorn;
But she has listened to the voice
On city breezes borne.

Amy Levy

Happy Reading

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Friday Poetry: Charlotte Perkins Gilman

Hello!

Happy Friday! It is time for some poetry.

On this day in 1913, Emily Davison threw herself under the King’s horse at the Epsom Derby. Sadly, she died from her injuries four days later. Davison was a key part of the suffragette movement. The vote was given to women who met certain qualifications in 1918, women were given full voting rights in 1928.

Coming

Because the time is ripe, the age is ready,
Because the world her woman's help demands,
Out of the long subjection and seclusion
Come to our field of warfare and confusion
The mother's heart and hands.

Long has she stood aside, endured and waited,
While man swung forward, toiling on alone;
Now, for the weary man, so long ill-mated,
Now, for the world for which she was created,
Comes woman to her own.

Not for herself! though sweet the air of freedom;
Not for herself, though dear the new-born power;
But for the child, who needs a nobler mother,
For the whole people, needing one another,
Comes woman to her hour. 

Charlotte Perkins Gilman

Happy Reading

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Friday Poetry: Maya Angelou

Happy Friday!

I hope you all have some exciting plans for the long weekend ahead. I’m hoping to get some reading done but I also have a lot of studying to do as well.

My chosen poem today is by Maya Angelou (1928-2014) who was an American poet, memorise and civil rights activist.

Life Doesn't Frighten Me

Shadows on the wall
Noises down the hall
Life doesn't frighten me at all
Bad dogs barking loud
Big ghosts in a cloud
Life doesn't frighten me at all. 

Mean old Mother Goose
Lions on the loose
They don't frighten me at all
Dragons breathing flame
On my counterpane
That doesn't frighten me at all.

I go boo
Make them shoo
I make fun
Way they run
I won't cry 
So they fly
I just smile
They go wild
Life doesn't frighten me at all.

Tough guys fight
All alone at night
Life doesn't frighten me at all
Panthers in the park
Strangers in the dark
No, they don't frighten me at all.

That new classroom where
Boys all pull my hair
(Kissy little girls
With their hair in curls)
They don't frighten me at all.

Don't show me frogs and snakes
And listen for my scream,
If I'm afraid at all
It's only in my dreams.

I've got a magic charm 
That I keep up my sleeve,
I can walk the ocean floor
And never have to breathe.

Life doesn't frighten me at all
Not at all
Not at all.
Life doesn't frighten me at all.

Maya Angelou

I know the picture isn’t a Mother Goose on her nest but it is a swan I saw on the nest yesterday.

Happy Friday!

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Friday Poetry: Jack Prelutsky

Happy Friday!

I hope everyone has some good plans for the weekend.

My chosen poem today is all about how boredom is a state of mind and that if you choose to be bored you might miss things in life.

Today Is Very Boring

Today is very boring,
it's a very boring day,
there is nothing much to look at, 
there is nothing much to say,
there's a peacock on my sneakers,
there's a penguin on my head,
there's a dormouse on my doorstep,
I am going back to bed.

Today is very boring,
it is boring through and through,
there is absolutely nothing
that I think I want to do,
I see giants riding rhinos,
and an ogre with a sword,
there's a dragon blowing smoke rings,
I am positively bored.

Today is very boring,
I can hardly help but yawn,
there's a flying saucer landing
in the middle of my lawn,
a volcano just erupted
less than half a mile away,
and I think I felt an earthquake,
it's a very boring day.

Jack Prelutsky

Happy Reading

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